Day and Night
by BirdSpell
Summary: Germany and Prussia reflect on their respective friends-lovers-things. GerIta and Prupan.


**Hey, guys! So, I tried to do something different and make this a bit more poetic… or something. I probably failed, so let me know how I can make it better? Please?**

**In case you can't tell, I've had a lot more practice writing Prussia and Japan than I have writing Germany and Italy. But GerIta needs some love on my profile (it's so fabulously canon).**

**And Hetalia is still not mine. I do own copies of all five seasons, though. Damn, I need to get Paint It, White.**

0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0

Italy has always been the sunny one.

It's him who, with his smiles and pasta and laughter and innocence, keeps Germany from falling too far into his routine of obsessive training and teaching and more training and the billion other things he does which can't be good for him, but he does anyway.

As annoying as the other nation is, Germany can admit, if only to himself, that meeting him was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and to be honest, it really wouldn't be the Axis without Italy for them to protect, would it?

He needs that; someone who needs his help and guidance and protection, to keep him from thinking too hard on past actions and blood and death and there he goes again-

But Italy, cheerful, ridiculous Italy, saves him every day without even realizing it, and Germany is thankful.

Even Romano's constant cursing and hatred isn't enough for him to consider leaving Italy behind. After all, he's just looking out for his brother.

Or maybe he's just an ass. It's hard to tell.

In any case, Italy doesn't seem to mind Romano's cursing and Germany's quiet dislike, but they still try not to be _too_ obvious about it when he's around.

It's Italy, with his suntanned skin and pretty amber eyes and fiery hair, who always shows up on the anniversary of the formation of the Axis, and when they broke up—technically—too, and the thousand other dates in between, even when Prussia is off doing something else and Romano's with Spain and Japan just doesn't want to remember, year after year, until Germany thinks that this time he really will forget it, this time for sure, but he always gives in and calls in the end, or, more frequently, Italy calls him because they're still the Axis and they have to be there for each other when there are things they really wish they didn't have to relive _every single damned year_.

Italy knows them better than they'd ever admit.

He always seems to know when Germany wants company, even if he doesn't leave when Germany _doesn't_ want it, and when to be smiling and cheerful and even more ridiculous than usual just to make him smile. He's not sure if he does this for the others too.

He's not sure he wants him to.

If Germany is honest, he wants Italy to be his. Just his, with no one else to take him away and to make him spend time with others, even if it is only the rest of the Axis. So they could just… be together, without the awkwardness when Italy wants to spend time with Romano or England or one of the many other nations that Germany doesn't like and probably never will.

When it's just the two of them, he doesn't have to be as perfect, because Italy doesn't notice, really, when he lets himself be less of a general. He has to be perfect with the others; Romano will never change, but he has to prove himself to his older brother, he feels, and Japan is… Japan.

Italy is Italy. Imperfect, overly cheerful, annoyingly wonderful Italy. And Germany enjoys that. Because Italy doesn't care if he puts the human part of himself before the nation part, if he chooses to be Ludwig instead of Germany, because he doesn't see a difference. He is one of those few who can be human and nation, Feliciano and Veneziano, all at once. And no matter what has happened in the past, he's still pure… innocent.

Somehow, despite everything that's happened, he's still innocent, and Germany can never be like that. Few can.

But Italy manages, and he's not sure how. Maybe it's because everyone does their best—despite the beatings and insults and everything else—to keep him that way, and they all have to admit he's adorable.

Italy is like day; sweet and innocent and bright.

And Germany loves him for it.

And he admits that maybe Spain was right when he said Italians were captivating.

0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0

If Italy is day then Japan is night.

Prussia still remembers seeing him for the first time, a young-old naive-jaded creature with moonlight in his skin and hair and shadows entwining with starlight in his eyes.

Japan is moonlight and starlight and shadows and secrets and twisted beasts and sweet words and so many other things that call night their home. He is young and old and innocent and guilty and kind and cruel and broken and whole and fleeting and eternal all at once.

Japan is a paradox. He is something that shouldn't exist for fear of destroying the minds of any who try to think too long or too deeply on him.

But Prussia doesn't care.

Because he knows for a fact that Japan will not break him, will not ruin him, even though he could. Japan will never destroy him, not him. He has made that promise many times, so many times.

So Prussia spends his days with his brother and Austria and Hungary and Italy and France and Spain and his nights with Japan.

But Japan wouldn't appreciate being brought to the front of people's minds, he prefers fading into the background, the shadows of world affairs, and so their… _understanding_ remains unsaid.

Prussia doesn't need someone to protect, and Japan doesn't want to be protected. Prussia wants someone who he can simply spend time with, someone who's not his younger brother or naive Italy or sometimes-too-cheerful France and Spain, and Japan needs someone to remind him, that he is wanted, needed, _loved_. Someone who lets the past be forgotten and lives in the present with him.

And who better than an ex-nation with no people or bosses or alliances, who never fought against the island empire, only alongside him, who survives now on the goodwill of a nation who goes forgotten more often than not.

It's a unique perspective, knowing your life could end any day. It makes it hard to care about the past, to live for anything but the present.

And yet, on all the anniversaries and dates of the Axis, right through to their final, crushing defeat, while Romano is with Spain and Italy is with Germany and France is off with the Allies doing whatever it is he does on those days, Prussia takes the long flight to Japan and goes to the nation's house, and they watch TV and talk and play card games and at night sleep together, Japan sheltered in Prussia's arms, and they don't talk about why he's there, because they both know, and on those days Prussia is happy to protect and Japan is willing to be protected. And they simply stay there and let themselves be at peace for a little while, and there's no history or fear of disappearing to keep them from rest.

When a meeting coincides with one of the more major dates—start and end and surrender after surrender—which all five of them agree is poor planning, Romano is moodier (and more prone to tears) and Italy clings to Germany more and Germany will not allow even the slightest mistake and Prussia and Japan sit next to each other and let their hands intertwine under the table and don't say a single word, not even Prussia's mistimed comments or Japan's agreement with everything America says, most of which is false anyway, because it's easier to agree with him than to attempt to reason with him. No other nation questions why, or possibly doesn't dare, because the few times someone made that mistake Romano screeched at them and Italy wailed and Prussia yelled rather creative insults and Germany went quiet and kind of terrifying and Japan looked to be on the verge of tears—or possibly murder, it can be hard to tell—and muttered to himself in Japanese, at which point Prussia's insults became even more creative and derogatory because he taught himself both Japanese and Italian and he automatically hates anyone who makes Japan say things like that.

Sometimes the other nations really piss him off.

They forget Canada and insult Germany and Italy and flock to America and even though it's never said he knows a lot of them still hate Japan. And that's just not fair. What nation hasn't done horrible things in the past?

So whenever he hears the Asian nations make barbed comments and Japan almost-flinches and England winces but doesn't interfere it's Prussia who steps in and wraps an arm around Japan's narrow shoulders and stage whispers a litany of crimes they and their allies have committed, and when they step back or look away or glare at him he smiles brightly and steers Japan to the Axis once more.

And Japan murmurs thanks in his own language, and Prussia smiles.

Sometimes Prussia wakes up with the smell of Japan's blood filling his nose and mouth and he remembers that terrible, terrible day at the end of a war when he'd heard America's plans and knew they were real and flew as fast as he could to warn Japan but he was too late, too late. And he remembers racing through that house filled with the stench of blood and suffering and finding Japan lying on the floor of an upstairs bathroom, bleeding out on the tile.

He can't ever forget, because when he gently rolled Japan over to search for injuries other than the too-obvious burning bleeding marks on his back, Japan keened in pure agony and tried to struggle away from his touch, gasping with pain and effort, and even when Prussia hushed him and cradled him and even just let him lie there he still struggled until Prussia pulled him forward too-roughly and pressed their lips together.

Japan's face was damp, he remembers, damp with sweat and tears. It was the first time he ever saw Japan cry. And Prussia bound his wounds and held him close as he slept fitfully, and he refused to speak for weeks and when he did his voice was hoarse and broken and Prussia has never hated anyone as much as he hated America in those weeks.

But he recovered. Slowly, but he did, and Prussia could deal with the moments when Japan's eyes flashed cold and hurt and sometimes red.

And sometimes he still wakes up with the stench in his nose and blood behind his eyes and he flies to Japan and if the smaller nation is still asleep he joins him in bed and if he's at work Prussia waits for him to come home and when he does Prussia pins him to the wall and kisses him senseless.

Japan doesn't mind. He simply closes his eyes and enjoys it and allows Prussia to reassure himself that Japan is here, alive and healthy and safe.

Japan doesn't ask. And when Prussia arrives first and decides to nap in Japan's bed, as he sometimes does, when Japan comes home to find him asleep he curls up alongside him, a quiet reminder that he's there.

Prussia likes those times the best. Because waking up to Japan lying beside him, head on his chest, is one of the best things ever, he thinks. And it's so cute he feels like he might die.

Because Japan, no matter what he's done or said, is cute. Not Italy's innocent cute or Romano and Iceland's feisty cute or anything like that, just… cute.

It makes sense; he's Japan. He invented moe. So he's got to be adorable. It's an unspoken law.

Sometimes one or both of them break.

It's inevitable, really. With so much history pressing down on them, so many terrible things that they've done and had done to them, it would be impossible to stay calm and whole forever. But they're lucky, they're two of the ones who have others around to help them; the Axis, most of the Allies too, Spain is always there for Prussia and Greece and Turkey are willing to put aside their rivalry for Japan's sake.

And they have each other. So when Prussia Skypes Japan with angry, flashing, too-bright eyes or Japan calls with a too-soft voice trembling in grief and hate and he seems to forget how to speak English, the other will always, always take the time to fly over and visit and remind them that they've changed, the world has changed, and they don't need to hate like that anymore.

When this happens there are harsh words and insults and anger to spare, but neither mind. Because if the other meant it they wouldn't spend the day following them, even through the muttered insults and wishing their companion would simply disappear.

They never mean it, not really.

So Prussia lets Japan be shy and invisible and insecure, and Japan lets Prussia be loud and obnoxious and narcissistic at times, because both understand they can't change the other. And neither of them mind.

Prussia doesn't care that Japan rarely speaks and agrees with everyone and never states his own opinion, because when they're alone he's not as shy, and besides, Japan is Japan and he likes Japan.

Japan is still like the night. But Prussia enjoys that, appreciates it, accepts it.

0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0

Italy and Japan are almost opposites of each other. But so are Germany and Prussia.

And, surely, all that matters is all four of them are happy.

0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0v0-0

**So, that was actually really fun to write!**

**Lots of long sentences, though. And Prupan got more time than GerIta… It was supposed to be half and half, I swear!**

**Let me know what you think, yes? Even if you're just going to throw virtual rocks at me (I'd rather you didn't, though).**

**See you~!**

**-Bird**


End file.
